The Lamppost
by Crimson White
Summary: A lifetime ago there had been a lamppost. Atleast, Susan thinks there was a lamppost. Perhaps if she can find it...she will find her family.


Something a bit new.....

Hope you enjoy,

Crimson

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It was a bitterly cold day.

Anita Hayworth hurried down the small path which led to a stately home in the middle of London, clenching her jaw to stop the shivers which swept to her bone.

She tumbled up the front stairs and stamped her boots on the doorstep in order to get rid of the first small remnants of grey slush. Breath puffing before her, she pulled out the wrinkled parchment on which she had scrawled the address and peered at it once more. The giant number 24 on the door matched her scribble. Yes, nothing to it then. She raised her hand and knocked smartly, taking a shallow, cool breath and putting on her friendliest face.

Anita had barely finished knocking before the door was swung open and a tall beautiful (indeed, _the most_ beautiful) lady (_Mrs Carmedy_, her note told her) was peering down at her.

"You're late."

Anita bristled at the condescending tone, but bit back her sharp retort and hazarded a smile at her employer. She was barely one minute late and could the woman not see that she had just tramped through slush and wind in order to get here at all?

"Sorry madam, the weather you see – "

Mrs Carmedy waved a daintily manicured hand in dismissal, "Yes, yes, come in." The door was pulled back further and Anita stepped inside the warmth, exhaling the outside bitter air.

"Shoes!" Mrs Carmedy reminded her, already shrugging on her own expensive thick black jacket as Anita was shrugging _off_ her own (much less expensive) one.

Obediently, Anita kicked off her boots and fussed over where the most likely place to put her shoes without getting a death stare would be. Her heart beat loud in her chest. She didn't feel comfortable with women like Mrs Carmedy.

That is, women who wore their entire wealth in jewels around their necks, wrists and fingers and found delight in scents which permeated a room before they were even present. That is, women who liked for all to see and listen to them and who had husbands who drank and smoked and were either bankers or politicians. That is, women who were astoundingly beautiful...and knew it.

"George! The sitter is here!"

Anita cleared her throat hesitantly, "Mrs Carmedy, I prefer it if you don't call me a –"

"Oh that's right," said Mrs Carmedy, dabbing at her red lips in the small mirror in the hall. "George! The _Minder_ is here!"

"_Mrs Carmedy_, I really must insist, you see it's rather demeaning for the elderly, to be told they have a 'sitter' or a 'minder' - we much prefer just to be called a frien -"

"Of course, dear," said Mrs Carmedy, but Anita had the feeling that anything she was saying was not even registering with the woman and therefore gave up with a sigh. She finally decided to just leave her boots in the corner, relishing just the slightest in the way the slush melted all over the Carmedy's polished floorboards.

"GEORGE!"

"Coming!"

Footsteps overhead announced the arrival of a dashing, dark haired sir. He had a mischievous smile which hovered at his lips constantly and wide blue eyes. He paid no mind to Anita and instead caught his wife around her waist and planted a smacking kiss on her lips.

"You look absolutely divine, Alison, as always!" His voice was loud, much too loud for a small front room, and more suitable for proclaiming this fact to a room full of people. Which, Anita thought dryly as Mrs Carmedy lifted her chin with satisfaction and pride, was what he most likely did a lot of. Proclaiming that is.

Mrs Carmedy turned away from the mirror with a last pat to her hair and a quick fix of her lips (and an eyebrow quirked in her husband's direction which Anita pretended not to notice).

"Now, mother is in the living room. They've given you a list of her conditions, of course?"

When Anita nodded, Mrs Carmedy continued, pulling her husband closer to retie his bowtie with an accompanying tut of her tongue. He struggled to put on his coat as she jostled him to and fro.

"Honestly, dear, it's crooked!" and to Anita, "Her mind is going you see –"

"Always going on about lions and tigers –," interrupted Mr Carmedy, done with his coat, his hands creeping around his wife's waist once more, eyes trained on her upturned face.

"Hold still, dear! Yes, lions and castles and all sorts of_ nonsense_. We're very strict with her, a smart little knock to the wrist when she goes on, that's what the doctors have told us."

Anita held back her frown and made herself nod and smile politely. "Her medicines?"

"There, that's better, George! Oh – medicines are in the bathroom cupboard, mind you don't mix the heart and the mind ones, they've specific doses."

And that seemed to be the end of Anita's brief list of instructions because the couple stood side by side, holding hands and beaming at her expectantly.

"How do we look, dear?"

Gorgeous, lovely, absolutely stunning and most decidedly unconcerned about leaving mother with a perfect stranger for the first time. Anita forced another smile for her employers.

"Wonderful."

Mrs Carmedy laughed brightly, her blue eyes shining as she leaned into her husband's shoulder. "We'll show them, won't we dear?"

"Of course, my darling," he replied reflexively and smiled down at her.

There was a honk from outside.

"The taxi!" Mrs Carmedy cried and dashed down the steps, thankfully breaking the absolutely delightful display of affection that Anita was sure she was about to suffer through.

Mr Carmedy made to follow, but hesitated and turned back, his permanent smirk gone, just for the moment.

"One rule and one rule only," he said sternly. "There is to be no mention, none whatsoever, of my mother-in-law's family." He grimaced a little and shook his head at Anita's questioning glance. "Horrible train accident when she was younger, you see, wiped out the whole lot of them. She gets a bit – _weepy_ – when they're mentioned."

He paused for a moment as if to let the horribleness of the accident sink in.

Anita nodded and swallowed the small lump which had appeared in her throat. "Yes, Mr Carmedy."

"_Good_ girl!" And suddenly he was all smiles once again. "Don't wait up!" The taxi honked, and Mrs Carmedy's delighted laugh floated up the walkway as Mr Carmedy made a mad dash across the slippery path, hands out to steady his progress.

Anita carefully shut the door as the taxi drove away and took a deep breath.

No family, no mixing medicines, no lions or castles....right.

It was time to meet Mrs Susan Richards.

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So this came about as a result of the NFFR Autumn challenge...(which I have once again set in winter?!?) It's looking to be a lot bigger than I originally thought...and well we'll see where it goes. And don't worry; the lamppost will get in there soon. : )


End file.
